Atticus

Suspended for negotiating with an armed lunatic, rookie cop Marti Coldwater is feeling lost and unappreciated. But her day is about to get a whole lot worse when her car is run off the road by a strange, falling military craft and she rescues the lone passenger—a young British amnesiac who thinks it’s 1944.

Soon, she and her newfound companion are relentlessly pursued by murderous men in suits and a sinister Nordic assassin with a singular mission—capture the stranger and kill anyone who’s seen him.

When she uncovers a plot threatening the entire planet, Marti is thrown into a world of highly classified government programs and astonishing alien secrets. Now, her only hope of saving the world is to try to recover the memories of a man who may be the most dangerous of all—the man who calls himself Atticus.

In this riveting sci-fi thriller from J.B. Manas, co-author of The Kronos Interference, stakes and tension are high as a stranger arrives with no memory and a deadly secret that could wipe out the entire human race. The Kronos Interference earned a starred review from Kirkus Reviews, who named it to their Best of 2012, calling the book “impressively original” and a “tour de force.” Atticus follows Manas’s penchant for writing fast-paced fiction that blends history, science, and adventure into a fun, twisty thrill-ride—this time from the suburbs of Bucks County, Pennsylvania to the volcanic hills of Iceland.

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Chapter 1

Look What the Wind Blew In

 

As she passed through the front door of the Ferry Township police station, Marti wasn’t sure what to expect. All she knew was that the captain wanted to see her. She was hoping it was to commend her for talking that lady’s brute of a husband into putting his gun down, which she had to admit was a minor miracle. The way she looked at it, she’d just saved two lives. Plus she kept her emotions in check, which, if nothing else, she could talk about in therapy this week. Whether the captain would see it that way was another story.

Her hands were still shaking. She wasn’t expecting anything like this, especially in this neighborhood. And in her first week on the force, no less. They did warn her it wouldn’t just be investigating burglaries and giving speeding tickets. In fact, the first thing that went through her head when she’d arrived on the scene was that one line she remembered from training: More cops die addressing domestic incidents than all the robberies, drug busts, and gang fights combined.

Thankfully, she survived this one, though she wasn’t sure she could handle any more. After all, the biggest incident in the last five years was when that huge Asian guy with a rifle was spotted running by the Green Parrot, and that turned out to be a movie shoot. Then again, there was her own incident several years prior. It made her ill just to think about it.

“He’s in the back,” said Helen, rearranging her assorted canine bobbleheads at the front desk. “Have fun.”

“I’m sure I will. By the way, I thought you said nothing happens around here.”

Helen was busy moving the Doberman next to the Saint Bernard.

“Beginners luck, I guess,” she said, straightening the two dogs.

“Some luck,” said Marti.

She was still getting used to the place. As she walked around Helen’s desk and past the other desks, she noticed Crawford filling out paperwork. She knew he resented her being hired, so she avoided eye contact.

“There goes Coldwater,” whispered some guy she didn’t recognize who was standing behind Crawford. Just as she passed, she could hear him whisper, “I’d like to pour some cold water on her, if you know what I mean.”

As if she hadn’t heard that before. She kept her head down and continued on. Taking this job was turning into a huge mistake, but she had to remember why she was doing it. And it wasn’t because she had any kind of wish to be a cop.

When she got to the far wall, Captain Brody’s door was open, so she walked right in. All she saw was the top of his bald head as he appeared to be studying a report on his desk. As she sat down, he glanced up and took his black-rimmed glasses off.

“Stockholm Syndrome,” he said.

“Excuse me?” For a minute, she thought maybe he dug up information from her past.

“That’s what they call it when someone gets attached to the person who’s abusing them. That’s why that guy’s wife was so mad you arrested him. You’re damn lucky you got him to put the gun down.”

“So I did good, then.” She smiled, almost forgetting for a second that she felt like an outsider here.

“Actually, no. You did absolutely, horribly, shitty. That’s why I called you here. What do you do when a guy has a gun pointed at you?”

“Listen, Captain Br—”

“Mike. I told you before, just call me Mike.”

“Okay, Mike. I know what they said in training, but the gun wasn’t pointed at me.”

“Sure it was. It’s a good thing Crawford showed up.”

“Okay, he was holding it,” she said. “But it wasn’t pointed directly at me. Plus, I had him talking.”

“You were arguing with him about restaurants for Chrissakes. With a gun!”

“He put it down though.”

“Because Crawford showed up.”

“Crawford almost got us both k—”

“You’re missing the point,” he said. “Whatever the situation was, when a guy has a gun and he ignores orders to put it down, you have to put him down. Period.” He banged his knuckles on the desk for emphasis, making her jump. “I mean it. If every officer here waited to see whether a guy with a gun was really serious about killing them, we’d have a bunch of dead cops on our hands. Luckily, this doesn’t happen every day around here, but when it does, it has to be handled by the book. You get that, right?”

“Yes, I get it.” It was obvious he didn’t want an explanation.

“Really? You don’t seem like it.”

“No really, I do.”

“Good then.” He flashed an insincere smile, put his glasses back on, and picked up a silver pen. “Now, just so you know, I have no choice but to sign this report. It’ll be in your records, and it comes with a three day suspension and a ninety day probation. That’s the rules here, I can’t break ‘em for you.”

“It’s okay, I don’t expect you to.” She felt this was incredibly unfair, but she wasn’t about to argue with him.

“I’ll need your weapon and your badge. You’ll get them back in three days.”

She unpinned her badge and placed it on his desk, then unholstered her pistol and did the same. She started to get up to leave, but Brody said, “Hold up, there’s one more thing.”

As she returned to her seat, she couldn’t imagine what else he’d have to tell her. Then he dropped the bomb.

“When you come back,” he said, “I’m teaming you up with Frank for a while.”

“You’re kidding. You can’t do that.” She could feel the blood rushing to her face.

“I think I just did.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can team me with? Worthington, maybe?”

“Listen, I know you two aren’t exactly buddies, but Frank’s the best we’ve got. And believe me, you have a lot to learn. He may be an old-timer, but he’s seen it all. He was a Philly cop back—”

“I know his background, but the point is he doesn’t even want me here in the first place.”

“He has his reasons. Anyway, it’s not up for discussion. The decision’s already made. Now you can go.”

Marti was in a daze as she stood up to leave. Just what she needed, to be working with Frank.

“Hey Marti,” said the captain.

She turned around.

“What’s a young, pretty girl like you doing here anyway? I don’t get it. There are a lot safer careers out there.”

“Some people don’t have a choice,” she said. She wasn’t lying. This wouldn’t have been her first choice. It wouldn’t have even been her ninetieth choice. But when her mom got that diagnosis, she spent weeks trying to figure what careers could pay you during training and offer health insurance. Nursing school just wasn’t going to pay the bills, much as she loved it. All she’d ever wanted was to be able to help people; to make a difference. As a nurse she could’ve done that. But as a cop? She wasn’t so sure. At least at this precinct, it didn’t seem to be about that. She had to keep reminding herself that this was temporary—a necessary evil. She just didn’t count on the boys’ club at the station, or how dangerous the job really was, even in a town as small as this. Worse yet, that idiot will probably go free because his wife won’t press charges. Guys like that always go free.

As she went to her locker to change into her regular clothes, she thought about what it was going to be like working with Frank. If things were bad now, they’d be even worse later. At least she’d have a few days off to decompress.

After she changed, she made her way back past the desks, feeling like everyone was staring at her. That’s when she heard a loud buzz, like a heavy truck going by. Or maybe it was a big helicopter flying overhead. At first she ignored it, but it grew louder. Then the room started vibrating.

“What the hell is that?” said Crawford, getting up from his desk.

Marti headed toward the front door to see if anything was going on outside.

“We never get earthquakes here,” said a pudgy, red-headed cop Marti didn’t know. “Other than that one about five years ago. Wouldn’t you know, I was in a candy store and all the jelly beans started shaking.”

Helen was standing at the front door, holding it open. “That’s no earthquake,” she said, as the noise quieted down.

Marti stepped outside with her and followed Helen’s eyes to the ground. There was some kind of dark red ash spread all over the lawn and sidewalk for as far as she could see.

“What the hell?” said Marti.

“Bet you anything it’s chemtrails,” said Helen.

“Chemtrails?”

“Don’t you read the news? Those damn jets spraying stuff everywhere. Who knows what it really is. Didn’t you ever see those clouds coming from those jets? That’s chemtrails.”

“Actually, I think that’s condensation.”

“Sure, you go ahead and believe that. That’s what the government wants you to think. You have a lot to learn.”

“That seems to be the consensus today.” Marti had to admit it was less painful coming from a conspiracy theorist.

“Besides,” said Helen, “how do you explain that?” She pointed around to all the red ash.

Marti shook her head. Admittedly, this was weird… like, apocalypse weird. Given all the events of today and now this, she thought of that line from John Lennon’s Beautiful Boy, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

As Helen went back inside, Marti proceeded to her tan Fiat. She fell in love with that car the moment she saw it. It reminded her of zipping around in some fancy European city. Right now, she’d settle for anything but a police car. Red ash or no red ash, she was off-duty and was determined to enjoy the rest of the day. Maybe some shopping would cheer her up. Nordstrom was having a sale.

After settling into the driver’s seat, she gave her hair a quick comb in the mirror. She was getting tired of her boring, dark brown hair, so she made a mental note to get highlights—or maybe an ombre. At least it was straight. God bless flat irons.

Just as she pulled out onto the road and turned on the radio, the phone rang through the car speakers.

“Mom?” she said. “Everything okay?”

“Of course it is. I just wanted to see how your day went.” She sounded like she was half asleep.

“You don’t sound okay. Were you sleeping?”

“It’s the new treatments. They make me tired, that’s all.”

“Are they working?”

“We’ll find out.”

“Well, did they tell you—”

“Marti, I didn’t call to talk about me. I want to know how you’re doing there.”

“Fine, I’m actually heading home now. I got off early. More time away from the boy’s club. Did you hear that noise outside?”

“What noise?”

“Never mind. Feel up to a shopping trip? Maybe Willow Grove?”

Marti turned right through Wilshire Farms. She always loved the open farmland around there.

“Maybe this weekend. You go and enjoy yourself.”

“Now you’re starting to worry me. I need you to talk to me about what’s happening.”

“As soon as you start talking to me. I know you’re not fine. I have that mom bullshit detector you know.”

“I think I inherited —wait… deer.” She slammed the brakes as two deer darted across the road in front of her. Her car skidded slightly to the side.

“Dear what? Are you okay?”

“No, I said deer. I almost hit two deer.” Her heart was pounding, but she pulled back onto the road. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any more. “I hate those damn things,” she added.

“They’re cute though.”

“Sure, until one of their antlers comes through your front window and turns you into a shish kabob.”

“That’s pleasant.”

“Hey, my car’s acting weird.” She suddenly began having trouble holding the wheel as it shifted from side to side. What now? There were no other cars around, so she tried to pull to the right shoulder.

“Maybe it was the deer.”

“No, it’s not that. My car’s moving.” She could feel her car being pushed sideways. It almost felt like a tornado, but it was a nice fall afternoon. Her car started to lift. “What the—”

“Marti! What’s going on?”

She grabbed the wheel as her car spun out of control, practically gliding to the side of the road and down a small ditch. She could barely register her mom calling her name from the speaker, as the force pushed her hard toward the passenger seat. Then the car jerked forward and she felt the seat belt pull her back as it finally came to an abrupt halt. At least the airbag didn’t deploy, but she was still gripping the steering wheel like her hands were frozen to it. She couldn’t imagine what could have caused such a forceful wind. That’s when she saw something odd.

A small crop plane or something was falling silently from the sky, maybe a couple hundred yards away. It was shiny and silver, whatever it was, and was descending in a steep, vertical drop toward the middle of a field. She wondered if that was what caused the red ash. And could that small thing have caused such a draft? Then again, it was more likely that the same gust that blew her car over also knocked the plane out of the sky.

Her hands shook as she opened the car door and got out, glad to be on solid ground. She watched as the plane fell in the distance, seemingly in slow motion. When it finally hit the ground, there was no fireball or explosion, just a dull thud that echoed all the way to where she was standing. The noise of the crash sent ripples through her spine. She couldn’t imagine being the pilot falling helplessly to his death. It was hard enough having her car blow off the road. She wondered if he could have survived somehow. Maybe he ejected.

Though it was starting to get dark, she could still see pretty well. She jogged across the field toward the crash site, almost afraid of what she might find. There wasn’t a soul around; there rarely was in this area. All she could hear was the sound of her feet pummeling the dry grass, and the occasional horse whinnying from off to the right somewhere, where a run-down looking white barn stood. She stopped every so often to catch her breath, as she was still shaken up from the accident. She wished she’d stopped at the Wawa by the station to pick up a water bottle, as her lips were dry in the cool air.

As she got closer, she could finally make out the object about fifty feet ahead. It looked mostly intact. She swallowed as she approached. As long as there wasn’t a lot of blood, she’d be okay. Otherwise, she’d probably vomit and then pass out. Or vice-versa. She realized she’d picked the wrong career twice—both in nursing school and as a cop.

Approaching the crash, she could see this was no ordinary plane and it wasn’t a crop duster. It looked like some kind of sleek military craft, much smaller than one of those single engine planes. The wings were rounded off and short. While she was no aeronautical engineer, it looked to her like this machine had no business flying in the first place. There wasn’t even a propeller or engine that she could see. More importantly, there wasn’t a pilot, or even a place for a pilot to sit. This had to be some kind of military experiment. She wondered for a moment if crazy Helen was right. But what kind of plane with no engine or pilot and barely any wings can not only fly, but packs a draft powerful enough to run her car off the road?

Just then, a big part of the plane’s side fell open with a whoosh, revealing a hidden compartment. How on Earth—? There didn’t even seem to be any hinges or cracks for a compartment to open. She stepped back a few feet and could feel her legs weakening. Just as she was trying to decide if it was safe to even be here, a man rolled out of the compartment and onto the grass, groaning. Marti didn’t know whether to run for help or wait to see if he was okay. It bothered her that her first thought was to kick him in the head. Geez, Marti, you run to a crash site like a good samaritan and then you want to kick the injured man in the head? At least she had the good sense not to do it.

The man got to his knees and tried to stand. He looked to be in his early thirties, clean shaven with dark hair and pronounced cheekbones. He peered up at her cautiously as he staggered, barely able to speak. She couldn’t tell if he was drunk, injured, or both, but there was an intelligence about him. She could see it in his eyes. At first, she thought he had emerald eyes like her, but then they looked blue. Or maybe one was blue and the other green. He was wearing a golden tan military cargo jacket that looked like it had seen better days. It was a heavy jacket with a high collar, and a hood resting behind his head. As he stood, she could see he also had on a cream-colored turtleneck, and was wearing khaki pants and black boots. She couldn’t tell if he was military or not, but it seemed as though he’d been through a war, judging by the condition of his jacket. He hardly looked like a drunk, but he sure didn’t look like a pilot either. At least not in that shape, and having been lying in a side compartment.

“Are you okay?” she said. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

“I’m… not… quite…” His deep voice tailed off and then he collapsed onto the ground. It sounded like he was British. Maybe today wouldn’t turn out so bad after all. That’s if he didn’t die. She bent down and tried to gently revive him. She knew from nursing school not to try to move him, but keeping him awake was critical. He was breathing, so that was a good sign, but he wasn’t waking. She felt his pulse, which was strong. Her best bet would be to go back to the car and phone for help. She started walking back to where her car was, but had barely gone thirty feet when she heard more groaning behind her. She turned around to see the stranger getting up again, so she ran back.

“I was going for help,” she said.

“I—I don’t know what happened,” said the Englishman, standing up and brushing off his jacket.

“You’re British,” she said, stating the obvious. Duh, Marti. It occurred to her that it’s like telling Captain Brody that he’s bald.

“If you say so,” said the man. “The truth is, I can’t seem to remember much of anything, least of all how I got here.”

“What kind of plane is that?”

“Dunno. Not a good one I suppose.” He leaned against it for support.

“Do you know your name?”

He looked around as if in a fog, like he was seeing the world for the first time.

“No,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Marti.”

“Odd name for a girl.”

“It’s spelled with an ‘I.’ Do you remember anything about yourself?”

He shook his head. “It’s strange,” he said. “Nothing seems familiar. Where am I?”

“You’re in Ferry Township. It’s in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.”

“The United States.”

“Yes, so you know that at least. That’s good. That’s a start.”

“How the devil did I get to the United States?” he said, looking around like he was in Oz. “Never mind, you wouldn’t bloody well know, would you?”

“If you want to wait here, I can go to my car and phone for an ambulance to get you to a hospital.”

“From your car?” He seemed surprised she’d even suggest that.

“Yes, I left my cell phone there.”

He tilted his head the way her dog does when he’s confused. “Cell… phone,” he repeated, enunciating each word.

Either this guy had severe head trauma or he seriously didn’t know what a cell phone was.

“You’re kidding, right? You don’t know what a cell phone is?”

“I’m afraid not, but it sounds like I should.”

“Okay,” she said, pausing to take a deep breath. “You don’t remember cell phones. You think it’s weird that I can call from my car. What year do you think it is?”

He stood there thinking—for too long, as far as she was concerned. “What year?” she repeated.

He shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

Marti exhaled. She would have died if he said 1940 or something.

“I think I’m fine walking now,” he said. “Let’s go to your car.”

“Are you sure, you should really—”

“Trust me, I’m sure. I need to walk this off.”

“I don’t know how you walk off a plane crash,” she said, “but sure. Suit yourself.” Actually, she wasn’t quite sure if she did trust him. The more she thought about it, for all she knew, he could try to kill her in her car. She was still dealing with her trust issues anyway, and this was a case where things could really go wrong. Still, something about him seemed different. He reminded her of poor Adam, that’s what it was. Regardless, she might have felt a little safer if she had her police uniform and gun.

He kept up with her as they made their way in silence toward her Fiat, with only the sound of their footsteps against the dry grass as a backdrop for her thoughts.

“It’s just a little ways more to the car,” she said. She didn’t want to get into the whole story about the wind blowing her car off the road. He wouldn’t remember anything anyway. Or would he? She decided to ask.

“Listen, um… I still don’t know what to call you. But do you remember a strong wind hitting your plane as you were flying?”

More silence. He wasn’t much of a talker. That’s when she realized he was no longer beside her. She turned around to see him standing several yards back, gazing blankly up and to the right as if recalling something.

“Are you remembering something?” she said.

He stopped to look at her. “Atticus,” he said.

“Atticus, what’s that? The plane?”

“I think it’s my name. I’m not sure, it’s still foggy. I’m remembering something else, though, too.” He once again stared vacantly at an imaginary world.

“What do you see?” she said.

“Snow,” he said.

“Snow?”

“Yes, and lots of it.” His forehead crinkled like he was struggling to recall more. “I remember boots… our feet were frozen. And gunfire. It was far away at first, but then it got closer.” He said it so matter-of-factly, it was as if he was remembering an old movie rather than a real battle. He knelt to the ground and touched his hand to the grass as if to make sure it really existed.

“Were you in the military?”

“I think so,” he said, shaking it off and getting back up. “I can even see faces, but no names come to mind.”

“What do they look like?”

“Dunno,” he said. “Two eyes, a nose and a mouth. What does anyone bloody look like? Old, young, women, men. I don’t know any of them.” He got up again and followed her, apparently not wanting to talk about it anymore.

She could sense his frustration, but she wanted to try to help. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to wake up in a strange place and not know anything. She wondered what kind of wars were being fought in the snow these days. Certainly not in the Middle East, though she was no world traveler. Maybe Russia? More importantly, how did he get here in Bucks County inside what was obviously a futuristic craft? He had to be military. But he was British. This whole thing didn’t make sense.

They finally got to her car. She couldn’t help but see that he was gawking at her stylish Fiat in amazement as he approached the driver’s side.”

“Wrong side,” she said.

He stopped in his tracks and turned around to walk to the passenger’s side, just as she approached. She sidestepped to the right to let him pass, but he awkwardly stepped in the same direction at the same time.

“After you,” he said, allowing her to pass while he stood still.

She continued and climbed into the driver’s side as made his way around and settled into the passenger’s side.

He marveled at her dashboard as if it was a UFO control panel, touching it gently.

“So strange,” he said.

“What is?”

“This. Everything.”

Marti picked up her cell phone and saw she had twelve texts and ten calls from her mom. Her mom! She forgot all about her. Marti pressed the “call back” button.

“Thank God, I was worried sick,” said her mom as soon as she answered.

“You won’t believe what happened,” said Marti. “I’m so sorry, I was in an accident.”

“An accident!”

“I’m fine. I can’t talk about it now, but I have a guest in my car. His name’s Atticus. I guess my shopping will have to wait anyway. I need to take him to a hospital.”

“Atticus? Like in Atticus Finch?”

“Yes, it’s a long story. I’ll call you when I know more. But I’ll be home soon to see how you’re really doing, okay?”

“Is he cute?”

“Gotta go, Mom.” Marti fumbled trying to end the call, hoping Atticus didn’t hear that. As soon as she hung up the phone, she could sense him looking at her as she drove back onto the road.

“Atticus Finch?” he said.

“It’s from a book. Listen, I’m gonna take you to a hospital. Maybe they can get your memory back. But I really want to know where that plane came from. Where you came from.”

“You and I both,” he said. “I appreciate your help.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “No offense, but this whole situation is making me nuts. You come in that spaceship plane thingy, crazy winds blow my car off the road, red ash is all over the streets. And to be totally honest, I don’t even know if you’re a good guy or a bad guy. Or maybe you’re just some military dude following orders, doing something we’re not supposed to know about. Like those… chemtrail things. You know?”

He didn’t answer. She wondered if she upset him. She glanced over, and he was just staring straight ahead.

“Are you okay?” she said.

He looked toward her in silence.

“Atticus, are you okay?” she repeated.

“I remember now,” he said, calmly as could be, as if he just remembered where he put his watch.

“Remember what?”

“The year. It’s 1944.”